


Beneath the Golden Sky

by LiterallyLovino



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, Elves, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Fantasy Creatures, Finn is a dragon, M/M, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyLovino/pseuds/LiterallyLovino
Summary: Eigtheen year old Santiago Leblanc is tasked with a vital mission--save his grandfather, Jean Leblanc, the famous explore who disappeared years ago. In the world where mythical creatures are more abundant than humans, Santiago and his companions face many trials and tribulations on the quest to save Jean. Will the budding romance between the three crush their chance of saving the old man? ...Or will it assist in the final battle?





	Beneath the Golden Sky

Ever since I was young, I dreamed of adventure. My grandfather had been a cartographer, and the maps he made when he was young still hang in the dusty walls of our small basement. They were infinetely large and intricate, and they were crisp and beautiful when they were new. Now, the paper is cracked and dusty, yet they rest on the basement walls nonetheless. Sometimes I'd go down and look at them, just to enjoy the thought of adventuring past the village walls.

My grandfather traveled far and wide, throughout the lands of Atoplis, and he documented everything as he went. He climbed the mountains, conquered the oceans, and even delved into some of the deepest caves in the world. I met him once--when I was maybe six or seven--but he disappeared on a trip before I could really get to know him. MIA, some said, but other claimed he was dead. My father firmly believed that he was still out there, and refused to listen to reason from the scholars who droned on about the possibility of a multitude of different mythical creatures killing him. Bull, I say.

The human race is small and dwindling these days. I live in a tiny village on the outskirts of one of the only remaining human kingdoms, overlooking a vast sea -- The Martay Sea, a salty death trap. During the day, the waves crash and drag at the rocky shore of the island, but during the night, the creatures within those depths come out to play. No human has sailed on it in years, but elves and nymphs sail it daily. The creatures living beneath the waters don't have any qualms with the mythicals, but with us humans? You'd be better off burying yourself alive than trying to sail that beast.

Most of us are fairly accepting of the mythicals--we have to be, after all; we are the minority. The kingdom I live in, Euler-Banneker, has a diplomatic relationship with most of the mythical kingdoms around, but there's a few of the remaining human kingdoms that don't get along with anyone. Specifically the Gatsoffe kingdom in the far north. For centuries, they've been fighting with many of the mythicals, and it seems that there's always some problem going on there. 

I dip my paintbrush into the bottle of ink one last time, finishing up the wooden signs that my father asked for. They're for his shop, a little rundown bungalow on the edge of town where he sells herbs and other plant-based hokey pokey. I think it's silly, honestly, but it's keeps money in our pockets, so it's fine. I don't have much of a job besides making signs and art for my dad, but I do occasionally help out around the village for a small amount of gold, mostly cleaning and repairing. The sun is just sinking beneath the horizon as I finish the sign, setting it upon my windowsill to let it dry. He'll need it for tomorrow--the holidays are rolling around, after all. Outside, the children are still frolicking about, kicking a ball between the lot of them. I wish I was still as young as them--I'm an adult now, having turned eighteen mere months ago. I watch as a woman chases the children back into the house, and I can hear the laughing and screaming as they go. _I'm lonely._

When my father comes home that night, he looks exhausted. There's deep bags under his eyes, and the lines of his face are more prominent, especially in the candlelight. He looks at me with sad eyes but says nothing, heading towards his room, where I know he will lock himself away without eating dinner. When the door shuts behind him, I sigh, heading towards the small kitchen. At this point, I'm the only one keeping my father alive. My mother left before I could even meet her, leaving the two of us to fend for myself. If I don't make my father meals, then he'll never eat. 

In the kitchen, I brew up a strong cup of tea for him, putting some of the herbs he has lying around in it--some brindle to aide in his sleep, and some yarrow to help when he wakes. I plate an egg and some bread before taking the small meal to his door. I knock once, depositing the plate in front of the entry. He'll come out and get it when he feels hungry--the tea will be cold by then, and the stars high in the sky. 

I retire to my room now, carrying a piece of bread for myself. I nibble on it as I change into my nightclothes--just a pair of shorts, since it is getting warm these days, and I like to sleep under the covers even in the summer--and slip into bed. My window is open, and I listen to the gentle chirping of birds as I return to my journal, opening it to the page I had drawn on last. Ever since I was young, I dreamed of adventure. Here, in the world of drawings, I can explore all I want.

***

I wake in the early morning, having not realized that I even fell asleep. My journal is still resting in my lap, the drawing unfinished. Charcoal and pastel is smudges all over my hands and sheets, and I know that I'll have to wash them later. I get out of bed and throw on some light clothes, as well as my sandals. Today is Saturday, and father has the day off. He'll likely spend most of his day hidden in his room, so that leaves me to take care of the garden. I head out the front door after eating an egg and some fruit, slipping my gardening gloves on. Father grows lilacs and tulips in the front, and I have to pull the weeds.

I've barely started discarding the dandelions when someone taps me on the shoulder. I jump, dropping my trowel in surprise. When I turn, a tall knight is standing above me, staring down at me with dark, stormy eyes. Judging by the badge on his breast, he’s one of the king’s guard—part of the royal army. He looks at me, skeptical, before clearing his throat. « Are you Santiago Leblanc ? »

I stand, brushing the dirt and grass off of my pants. I pull off my gardening gloves before offering the knight my hand. “Yes, that’s me,” I say, surveying the man cautiously. These days, the kings guard mostly keep to the castle, so it’s odd to see one of the knights out and about. The guard hesitantly shakes my hand—his gauntlets are cold against my own bare skin. 

“You are the son of Georges Leblanc?” The knight continues, looking me up and down. His gaze moves to my muddy shoes and back up to my tousled hair, where it rests. “The apothecary owner?”

“Yes. What do you want?” I ask, getting impatient. I’d really like to get all the weeding done by noon, and I’ve still got a lot of work left to do. The knight doesn’t appreciate my tone of voice, stepping forward. He’s a good couple inches taller than me, and it intimidates me.

“The king requests your presence,” he says, furrowing his brow. He has dark hair, and his face is nicely chiseled. If he hadn’t bugged me whilst I was gardening, he would have been a sight for sore eyes. “Regards to your grandfather,” he explains, turning on his heel. “He’d like to see you immediately. Please follow me.” 

I don’t have much time to process the man’s words, but I quickly follow him, my gardening forgotten. He walks at a brisk pace, and I have to jog to catch up with him. A carriage is waiting just down the dirt road, and when we reach it, he opens the door for me. I step in, and when I’m situated, the carriage begins to move.

It’s a short ride up to the large stone castle. The outer wall is cracked and crumbling, but in the kingdom, there’s really no need for the wall at all—people don’t bother the king, and the king doesn’t bother them. He’s an intimidating, scary man, and just the thought of him makes me shiver. No one even dares to get in his business. Whatever he wants with me, it’s likely not good. When we reach the front of the castle, the guard brings me inside, holding my upper arm. He doesn’t seem to trust me; his grip is harsh and tight around my bicep, and his gauntlets are cold. When we reach the throne room, he guides me inside before finally letting go. The king is sitting on his throne, bored, and there’s an elf beneath his feet; the creature is hunched over and obviously injured. I approach when he beckons, swallowing. This definitely won’t be good.

“Do you know this man?” The king asks, and it becomes clear that he’s not talking to me, but to the elf—and he’s not even an elf. As he turns to face me, I realize that he is a dragon, and he’s terribly gorgeous. He has sun-kissed skin and thousands of little freckles, and his eyes are a radiant golden. Even with the blood dotted around his lips and nose, he’s very beautiful. His hair is long and messy, pulled over one shoulder in a long braid. Two golden horns poke out from the top of his head.

“Yes,” the dragon responds, regarding me with a pained gaze. He is holding his left side, where a think trickle of blood is seeping out from between his fingers. “This is his grandson, I’m sure. They do look very similar,” he mutters, locking eyes with me. I’ve never seen this man before, but he knows who I am. The king gives one solemn nod before letting a guard take the dragon away, likely to tend to his wounds. Then, he turns his stoic gaze to me.

“Your grandfather, Jean, was a noble adventurer. He was brave and daring, and we missed him dearly when he disappeared. It has been brought to my attention by our dragon friend that your grandfather is still alive—and that he is in danger,” the king says, and a chill runs through my whole body. I feel like I can’t move; and my hands shake. “I will let Finn tell you the details when he is feeling better. However, I would like to send you to find your grandfather. I know your father is not well, and I feel an excursion like this would not be well for him. If you choose to go, then I will have Atticus and Finn accompany you,” he gestured to the guard that had brought me in.

Atticus didn’t look too thrilled, narrowing his eyes at me and crossing his arms. I got the feeling that he would make this mission difficult. I swallow back my anxiety and look back to the king, bowing before him. It is a lot for me to take in, but I know one thing for certain—I must go on this mission. If it can save my grandfather, then I’m willing to do it. “I accept,” I respond, trying not to seem nervous; my voice is shaky anyways. 

The king nods. “Then leave. Pack your case. I will send Finn and Atticus in two days time, and you will leave,” he responds, letting the guard escort me out once more. With one final glance back, I exit the castle. Ever since I was young, I dreamed of adventure. Now, I finally get to live that dream.


End file.
